Orange Kissed

I showed up at her door just before sunrise, a little earlier than I had promised. The street was quiet, and the soft pre-dawn chill gave everything a stillness. But my heart was far from calm. I had told her I'd pick her up at 5, and there she was, already ready, standing by the door in her joggers, hair loose, and her signature smile that hadn't changed in all these years. It was the kind of smile that always made me feel at ease like everything was just a little bit better in the world.

“Early bird,” I teased, and she replied with a grin that lifted her cheeks, bubbling them up like they held secrets, hiding a laugh she was about to let out.

We started jogging toward the lake, the air crisp and cool around us. She moved ahead of me, as usual, her energy unstoppable, like she was always ready to embrace whatever came next. Every now and then, she’d look back with a playful look, as if daring me to catch up. When we reached the lake, the sky was just beginning to blush with the first hints of sunlight. The water was still, reflecting the hues of pink and orange as if it was holding its breath for the day to begin.

We found a spot by the bank and sat down, our feet dangling just above the water, the cold brushing our toes. She placed her hand on the ground beside her, fingers splayed, and without thinking, I cupped it gently with mine. Not holding, just… touching. She glanced at me, but there was no awkwardness. It felt like we had done this a thousand times before, like we’d been meant to sit here together in this moment. Her hand fit into mine naturally, and for a while, neither of us said anything. The silence felt good, and comfortable, filled only with the soft rustling of the water and the faint sounds of birds waking up.

Her head gently bumped into my shoulder, and I could feel her relax as if this closeness had been inevitable. It was her way of saying she was comfortable, without needing to say anything at all.

We sat there until the sun had fully risen, casting its golden light across the water. It felt like a perfect beginning to the day, and I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed how she closed her eyes for just a moment, soaking it all in, her face glowing in the soft light.

By 6:30, we decided to head back. She led the way, and this time, I didn’t lag behind. We jogged side by side, her laugh breaking through the morning stillness whenever I threw in a random memory or joke. It felt like school days all over again, except better, somehow more real.

When we got back to her place, we hopped on her scooter, and I drove us to the outskirts where the orange farms were. The sun was fully up now, casting a bright glow over the fields. We picked fresh oranges together, her laughter filling the space every time I tried to catch her off-guard with a photo. She looked radiant, like she was part of the morning light itself, her skin catching the sun just right, making her look almost... glowing.

“You’re glowing, you know,” I said, half-joking, half-serious.

She raised an eyebrow, teasingly, “Like an orange?”

“Exactly like one,” I replied, grinning.

Back at my place, we decided to juice the oranges ourselves and prepare a simple breakfast. But, of course, things didn’t go quite as smoothly as planned. As she tried to squeeze the first orange, it slipped out of her hands, bounced off the table, and splattered juice right onto her face.

She froze, shocked for a split second before we both burst into laughter. The sight of her standing there, orange juice dripping down her cheek, was just too perfect.

“Hold still,” I said, grabbing a tissue. I moved closer, gently wiping the juice from her face. Her skin was warm from all the running around, and as I dabbed at her cheek, she looked up at me with that familiar twinkle in her eye, half-amused, half-something else. For a second, I thought she might pull away, but she didn’t.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her voice quieter now as if the moment had shifted into something more.

We finally managed to squeeze enough juice without any more accidents, and I toasted some bread while she spread butter on it, laughing about how messy we’d gotten. The simplicity of it all—just fresh orange juice, bread, and butter—felt perfect. We sat at the small kitchen table, side by side, our arms brushing occasionally as we ate. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a soft glow on everything, making even the crumbs on the table seem like they were part of something special.

After breakfast, we both freshened up. I could hear the faint sound of jazz coming from my speaker as I stepped into the living room, and I didn’t think twice before asking her to dance.

She hesitated for a second, smiling shyly, but then stepped into my arms. Her head found its way to my shoulder naturally, her cheek pressing gently against me as we swayed slowly to the music. The song was soft, almost like it was playing just for us. My hand rested lightly on her back, and I could feel her relax into the rhythm, her body moving in time with mine. It was intimate without being overwhelming, like we were just two people perfectly in sync, at that moment and no other.

I don’t know how long we danced. It felt like time had slowed down, the world outside fading into the background. All I could hear was the soft music and the steady sound of our breathing, in sync with each other.

I stepped away for a moment, reaching behind the counter where I had hidden a small bouquet of sunflowers. When I handed them to her, her face lit up in surprise, that same bubbling smile I’d come to know so well. Her cheeks turned a light shade of red as she took one and brought it to her nose, smelling the petals.

“Sunflowers?” she asked, her voice soft, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to act casual, “they remind me of you.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her cheeks still flushed, and then, without a word, bumped her head gently into my shoulder again. Just like she always did.

We didn’t need to say anything more. The music, the sunflowers, the quiet moments between us—they said everything.